


Spin Into Gold

by perspi



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tales, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perspi/pseuds/perspi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only his braggart father could have kept his mouth shut -- but no, then he'd never have met Danny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spin Into Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my First Readers, especially Kristen and Vera.

Of all the things Steve expects when he finally returns home, this isn’t it: Practically ambushed outside the family home for 'official business' by armed guards, clapped in cuffs and dragged into a small warehouse on the far side of the island, only to be asked to --

“Excuse me, what?” he asks, because there’s no way he heard that right. 

The Wo Fat smiles thinly back at him and doesn’t bother repeating himself. “Your father is a boastful man, quite taken with appearing important. I have been most intrigued with the stories he has told about you.”

Steve frowns and twists his wrists in their cuffs behind his back.

“I am pleased to finally meet you,” the Wo Fat continues blithely. He gestures around, pointing to somewhere behind Steve. “You should find everything you need to complete your task by dawn. Should you fail, your father’s life is forfeit.” He nods to the guards behind Steve, and the cuffs fall away.

Steve would like nothing more than to melt the smug off the Wo Fat’s face, but he’s all too aware of the way Mary had looked when Steve had first been arrested, so he stands firm. The Wo Fat assesses him with narrow eyes before tilting his head. “I will see you in the morning, then,” he says, and in a moment, the warehouse door slides shut with a clatter and Steve’s left alone.

He glances around more fully, paces the length of the small warehouse -- which, thankfully, is more of a shed than anything else -- and sees nothing but drifts of straw wherever he looks. When he gets back to the middle, he spots what the Wo Fat had pointed at, before, half-hidden behind a pile of straw: A spinning wheel, a small stool, and a half-dozen boxes of what turn out to be spindles.

After he finishes his recon of the warehouse, he returns to the wheel and puts his hands on his hips while he frowns at it. “Fuck,” he growls.

He gives the wheel a perfunctory spin, watching the mechanism as it gives a soft _whirr_ and trying to get a sense of how it should work. Steve reaches around to check the way the thread should wind and ends up poking his arm with the spindle.

“Damn it!” he shouts and jumps back from the now-lazily-turning equipment. He inspects the damage: nothing more than broken skin, really, although he hopes like hell it’s not enchanted, the absolute _last_ thing he needs is to fall asleep. He tears a strip off his overshirt to wrap the sluggishly bleeding scrape.

After another ten minutes spent glowering at the wheel, Steve gets up and starts to pace. He’s contemplating whether an explosion -- and just what kind -- will result in the kind of alchemy he needs when a voice pipes up from a dark corner of the warehouse. 

“You look like you could use some help.”

Steve spins around, trying to pinpoint where the voice came from. “Who’s there?” he challenges loudly.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, Hercules.” The voice gets clearer as its owner comes around from behind a pile of straw. Steve has no idea how he got back there -- he’s sure the guy wasn’t there the first time he checked the warehouse -- but he doesn’t appear to be much of a threat: he’s considerably shorter than Steve (although broad) and wearing no weaponry or sigilia of any kind save for an odd strip of cloth around his neck.

“Who the fuck are you?” Okay, not his best first impression, but Steve’s a little on edge.

Utterly unimpressed, the guy shoves his hands into his pants pockets and rocks back onto his heels. “Oh-kay, clearly in all your travels you haven’t yet made it to the polite conversation part of meeting new people --” one hand comes out to tap against his chest, “-- _I_ was merely making an observation that you don’t appear to know what you’re doing and could use some help, with an offer of said help implicit in the statement, and _you_ could try something like, ‘Hi, I’m --’” and the guy gestures grandly at Steve, who just raises his eyebrows.

“Are you serious?” 

“‘Steve McGarrett, and actually, I do not know how to spin straw into gold, so help would be appreciated,’” the guy continues.

“Do you need me for this conversation?” Steve asks. The evening light’s almost gone; as soon as he notices it the lamps along the roofline of the warehouse light up with little _pop_ s.

“And I would reply, ‘You, my friend, are in luck, because I can do just this very thing,’” he says, spreading his arms out proudly.

Steve’s not sure what the hell the guy’s expecting, but apparently he blinks one too many times because the guy rocks up onto his toes and gestures between them impatiently. “I do, in fact, need you to say something, here.”

“Who. The fuck. Are you?” Steve grits out, and maybe the guy’s loquaciousness is catching because all the rest of his questions come tumbling out one atop the next and Steve can barely keep up with them all. “Why did the Wo Fat think I could do this? How the hell can _you_ do this? Where did you come from? What the fuck are you _wearing_?”

By the end Steve’s all but growling outright, which doesn’t faze the guy in the least. “Danny Williams,” the guy answers with a nonchalant air that says he knows exactly how irritating he can be, “your dad has been all over the island talking about your --” and his fingers punctuate helpfully, “-- ‘high level training;’ how I can do it is none of your business; a little place off the Wide Land coast, I doubt you've heard of it since we're not fond of tourists; and this is _professional attire_ , my friend.” He runs one hand down his chest, puffing himself up and smoothing down the cloth.

“It looks like a noose.”

“Discussion of my tie is now off-limits,” Danny declares and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Look, do you want my help or not?”

Steve scowls and crosses his own arms. He’s never been one to accept help graciously, but he’s pretty sure if he tries his explosion idea he’ll only end up burning the place flat and that would kill his father for sure. Feeling desperate and pissed off about it, he finally agrees, “Okay.”

Danny nods, his lips twisting to the side as he regards Steve. “You’ve heard all the stories, though, right?” he asks. “You know it’s not that easy.”

Steve swallows and ducks his head; of course he knows. “What --”

"That trinket there, around your neck," Danny answers, pointing and twirling his finger. "That should do it."

Steve reaches to tug gently on the boar's tusk hanging from a cord around his neck, thinks of when he got it: His first hunt, tracking a great boar across the island for half a day before the boar caught him in a thicket. There'd been nowhere to go and Steve was too scared to try to run anyway, but the boar had only congratulated him on a good chase and asked him to pull the loose tusk that had been bothering it. The boar had left him with the tusk in thanks and instructions to go find a particular kahuna two islands over.

It had been the first sign that Steve was...different.

"You want this?" he asks Danny, just to be sure, but Danny nods, satisfied, so Steve takes it off and hands it over with only a small reluctance. He'll miss it, but he'd miss his father more.

Danny slips the tusk into a pocket, then rubs his hands together before he settles himself at the wheel. 

Steve watches carefully: Danny grabs a large handful of straw from the pile next to him, kind of rolls it between his hands before starting it on the wheel, spinning the wheel with a low _whirr_ by pedaling with one foot. In only a moment there’s a thread pulling from Danny’s hand to the wheel, curling around the apparatus until it winds onto the spindle. The thread gleams gold in the lamplight, and Steve has no clue how the hell Danny’s doing it.

The sound of the wheel and the motion of Danny’s hands are kind of hypnotic; Steve watches for a long moment before he wonders aloud, “Aren’t you worried you’re gonna get that thing caught?” 

Danny barks, “Off limits!” and Steve throws up both hands, palms out.

“Okay, fine, jeez.”

Danny levels an exasperated look at him. “You know, just because I’m helping you doesn’t mean you don’t have to do any work.”

Steve gives himself a little shake. “What?”

Danny rolls his head to indicate the rest of the straw. “I’d have to stop spinning to retrieve all that, and this is a lot easier to keep going than to get started, so...”

“Oh,” Steve says, finally comprehending, “right.” He could be forgiven, he figures; it’s been a long, weird day. He starts with the pile closest to the wheel, gathering big armfuls of straw and depositing them close to Danny’s knee where he can reach easily.

They don’t work in silence for long; Danny apparently can't keep his observations about the island to himself, and Steve apparently can't help arguing with him.

(At one point, Danny asks, "Why do you call him 'the Wo Fat'? Why not just call him Wo Fat?"

Steve shrugs. "'Wo' is a title, like a king. Ergo, 'the Wo Fat.'"

"Okay, then, why not 'King Fat'?" Danny's hands stop for a moment and he tilts his head, considering. "Yeah, all right, I'll give him the 'Wo.'")

By morning, the straw is gone, spun by Danny's quick hands onto almost all of the spindles in twists of gold. Steve feels itchy and gritty and exhausted; the skin of his hands and arms stings from handling the straw and the scrape from the spindle throbs a low beat. But he's not tired enough to miss the way Danny hungrily looks him over when he stands to stretch. 

When the Wo Fat's men arrive -- clearly surprised at the empty warehouse and full spindles -- Steve looks over his shoulder to find not a trace of Danny.

  


* * *

  


The next night, the Wo Fat has his men deposit Steve in a bigger warehouse, with more straw and more spindles. As soon as the door locks behind them, Steve prowls the perimeter, not quite ready to call out for Danny. Yet.

When Steve's in a far corner, midway through his fourth circuit and just as the lights _pop_ on, Danny steps out into the middle of the warehouse, right next to the spinning wheel. He throws his arms wide and gives Steve a grin. "Hey, babe, d'ja miss me?" he calls.

"Not at all, you son of a bitch," Steve calls back, but he can't help the way the relief bubbles up, the way he grins fit to split and that Danny can see it.

Danny gestures at the warehouse around them as Steve approaches. "What, one warehouse wasn't enough for this guy?"

"Apparently not," Steve answers with a half shrug. 

"They let you go home?" Danny asks, reaching out to give Steve's overshirt placket a tug that gives Steve a thrill down his spine.

"Nah, they tossed me in a cell," Steve grumbles. He hadn't been able to hear the ocean, and that had bothered him far more than confinement had. "My sister brought me some clothes, got 'em to let me clean up." She'd even bullied a guard into a real bandage for his arm, but his sleeve is long enough to hide it.

Danny eyes him speculatively. "Your dad?"

Steve shakes his head, tries not to let the worry show. "Mary said she didn't know where he was, and I didn't see him, either."

Danny nods, his expression sympathetic.

"Did you go home?" Steve tries to ask, but Danny speaks at the same time, "I hate to ask --" They stop at the same time, too, and Danny does something complicated with his face and holds out his hands like he's got the trump question and is expecting Steve to answer first.

Steve knows how this works, so he thinks a moment before carefully removing the small loop from his earlobe and holding it out, the polished stone reflecting fire in the lamplight. "I got this from a woman of the Long Desert, she called it 'opal,'" he says. "You won't find it anywhere else. Will this --"

"Yeah," Danny agrees, and his fingers brush warmly across Steve's palm when he takes it. Steve thinks he sees a flash of his boar-tusk necklace's cord underneath Danny's collar, but he can't be sure before Danny steps away and claps his hands together. "Well, this straw isn't gonna spin itself. Hop to, warrior boy," he orders and settles himself next to the spinning wheel.

"Warlock, Danny," Steve grouches with a smile on his face. "I'm a _warlock_."

They fall into a pattern of working and heckling each other like they've been doing it forever rather than just one night. When he's not moving straw, Steve thoroughly enjoys watching the way Danny's shoulders work -- wondering what they look like under the shirt, whether he's freckled or fuzzy or smooth -- and how his ridiculous hair seems to glow to match the thread he's spinning. 

("So what did you do, exactly?" Danny's voice startles Steve out of his watching. "Your --" and Steve can hear the quotes even if Danny can't make them with his fingers, "'high level training,' what did you do?"

"I sailed all over the world, but I can't tell you what I did," Steve says, and he grins when Danny cuts him an irritated look. "Guild secrets."

Danny huffs through his nose. "Okay, then, how about what you can do, like, you got any special abilities with this training? Because, okay, your dad was wrong about the specifics, but that doesn't mean he wasn't right --"

"Explosions, mostly," Steve offers, although he's still very aware of the masses of straw around them so he doesn't offer to demonstrate. "I can set pretty much anything on fire, make it explode."

Danny's smile and soft laugh is something Steve would give a lot to see again. "Don't tell me, that's what you were thinking of doing last night, before I got here."

Steve rubs at the back of his neck and looks up to see Danny staring at him. "What? You said don't tell you!"

Danny snorts. "You are lucky, my friend, that I showed up." Steve can't disagree.)

The second morning goes much like the first; Danny disappears the moment the Wo Fat's men turn up, and Steve spends the day in his little cell all by himself. He catalogs everything left in his possession and worries more about Danny than the Wo Fat.

  


* * *

  


"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Just as Steve had expected, the grumbling comes from behind him, Danny popping into the warehouse right where he _isn't_ looking. Danny comes to stand next to him, and Steve can see the way he's looking around the ballfield-sized warehouse and the way it's piled to the rafters with fine straw. 

"This is, this is goddamned _ridiculous_ , is what this is," Danny says half under his breath.

Steve nudges at him with one elbow, lets himself revel a little in the solidity of Danny's shoulder. "C'mon, D, 's not so bad. We work fast, together."

Danny rounds on him and pokes him in the chest, hard. "Not so bad, huh? You know how much straw dries out your skin? Do you have any idea how much lotion I've gone through in the last three days?"

Steve holds up his own hands, raw and scratched, the sleeve falling back to reveal the bandage near his elbow. "Hey, at least you _had_ lotion."

Danny stops mid-breath like he's frozen in a timespell, then he reaches fast for one of Steve's hands. "Shit, _Steve_ ," he says softly, his palm warm around the back of Steve's hand as his thumb gently holds the fingers steady, "let me --" and he reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small bottle, yanks the stopper out with his teeth, and pours some lotion onto Steve's palm. 

It feels cool and soothing, with a weird little tingle that could be the lotion or could be the fact that Danny's the one rubbing it in, tender fingers skating smooth over sensitive skin. Steve can barely breathe for watching, wordlessly offers his other hand when Danny points at it.

It's the most physical contact they've had, and it ends all too soon. Danny restoppers the bottle and returns it to his pocket before dropping Steve's hand, and they blink at each other for a moment. Steve manages a small, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Danny says, soft, his voice gruff like there's more underneath, more he won't say.

Steve clears his throat and points a thumb behind him, half-turns his body away with an effort. "I'm just gonna --"

"Yeah, with the wheel," Danny agrees, twirling one finger to demonstrate, half-turning himself. They grin awkwardly at each other before Danny's expression changes to something Steve can't quite read. "Uh. Payment?"

Steve can feel the grin sliding off his own face. "I." He's racked his brain, worried it over for half the day, but -- "I don't have anything else," he admits and spreads his hands wide.

Danny blinks and rocks backward a little, his eyes sweeping up and down Steve's body and Steve can hear him swallow. "Okay, that's, well and good but --" and he frowns, looks around the warehouse before meeting Steve's eyes again.

“What’s the most precious thing in the world to you?”

“The ocean,” Steve answers without hesitation. When he'd first discovered what he could do, he'd been terrified of it until the kahuna took him to see a volcano. As they watched the lava push slow fire into the ocean, Steve felt a certain comfort, knowing the ocean was _there_ , was bigger than he was and could take whatever fire he could throw at it and turn it to steam. He'd grown up on the beach, in the waves; the ocean had carried him around the world and back.

He looks at the floor but makes himself keep going because it’s worth it, whatever the price his father, his _family_ , is “-- yeah. Yeah.” He clears his throat and looks up to find Danny watching with sad, understanding eyes. “I would trade the ocean for my father.”

Danny takes a deep breath, says “Deal,” and sticks out his hand. They shake on it, solid and sure, before setting to work.

They don't have a lot of time for talking: there is a _lot_ of straw, and Danny has the wheel spinning so fast Steve can smell the heat of the bearings. Amazingly enough, they finish just as the lamps _pop_ off and the first rays of sunlight peek through the cracks in the warehouse walls.

Danny stands from the wheel and stretches, seeming to luxuriate in the loud _crack_ s from his spine. 

Steve watches closely, not wanting to miss the way Danny moves. He says, "Danny --"

"Don't," Danny cuts him off. "You'll see me later, all right? Gotta collect on the debt," and he smiles, Steve could get lost, distracted by the way his eyelids crinkle.

He's startled by the _boom_ of the warehouse door, and turns away just long enough that when he turns back, Danny's gone. He tries very hard not to think about what will happen when he sees Danny again.

This time it's not just the Wo Fat's men who enter the warehouse. The Wo Fat himself comes through the door, his eyes flicking only briefly to the large, neat stack of gleaming, full spindles against the wall. He stops directly in front of Steve, his face smug and satisfied as he slowly claps, the sound echoing loud in the cavernous building.

"Well done, McGarrett," the Wo Fat says. "Your father was apparently telling the truth; I am suitably impressed. You are free to go."

"Not without my father."

The Wo Fat inclines his head a fraction. "Of course. You'll have to wait for some time, though, as your father is currently being delivered to his home."

"I expect to find him there, then," Steve snaps. He steps in close to the Wo Fat, keeps his voice low so no one else can hear. "My father doesn't know everything about me," he growls, doing his best to loom over the man, "about what I can do. You touch my family again, and I will set you on fire from the inside out."

Steve tightens one fist, and behind him the spinning wheel bursts into flame.

There's only the barest flicker in the Wo Fat's expression as Steve strides out of there, but one of the guards watches until he's gone.

  


* * *

  


Mary's beside herself when Steve arrives home, and Jack looks only a little more worn around the edges, but they're all okay and it's not until sunset -- when people start arriving with food for an impromptu welcome-home party for both Jack and Steve -- that Steve feels himself relaxing a bit.

Steve spends most of the next week in the ocean, storing up what memories he can and fighting the apprehension in the pit of his stomach every time he comes back to land. Mary and Jack both watch him with questions in their eyes, but he doesn't dare give voice to the price he's paid for fear it'll come due that much sooner.

  


* * *

  


One evening, the sun is setting behind the island when Steve finally drags himself up the beach behind his father's house. He's not really surprised to see what's waiting for him, although his stomach threatens to retreat toward his knees and he wants to go back out and swim some more. Like to another island, maybe.

Then again, Danny would probably find him, wherever he went.

In a crisp white shirt, pale gray vest and pants, Danny stands out like a beacon on the beach in the fading light. Steve appreciates the view as he wades out of the surf; from the look on Danny's face, he's appreciating Steve right back.

Steve swipes the water off his face when he gets close enough to call out, "Hey."

Danny nods. "Hey."

Steve bypasses Danny in favor of grabbing his towel off the lawn chair and turns back from toweling his head off in time to see that Danny's followed him up the beach. And that he's barefoot.

Just like that, Steve's done; his knees fold underneath him and he lands hard on the chair.

"Hey, hey, whoa," Danny says sharply and he rushes for Steve, kneeling in the sand at his feet, one warm hand on Steve's knee. "You okay? Steve?"

"I know why you're here," Steve answers softly, frowning down at the sand under his feet.

Danny blows out an unsteady breath and his fingers go tight around Steve's knee. "Yeah."

"Will it hurt?" Steve asks, unable to speak much louder than a half-whisper. He doesn't dare look up, doesn't want to see what's on Danny's face.

"Nope," Danny says, equally quiet. "You'll still be able to go _in_ the ocean, you know, swim and sail and surf. You just won't...love it."

"But I'll remember, won't I?" The prospect makes him ache deep in his chest, makes his throat tighten. "I'll remember when I did."

Danny answers on a sigh. "Yeah."

Steve nods, forces himself to take a deep breath and say, "Okay, do it." He looks up to meet Danny's eyes; the pain reflected back feels like a punch.

Danny reaches out and rests just the fingertips of one hand on Steve's chest, warm against his breastbone, holds still for a long moment...

and abruptly pulls his hand back. "Okay, look, I really, _really_ don't want to do this," Danny says in a rush. "So I got a proposition for you, all right? Another trade, see, because look at me, I am not one who really needs a great love of the ocean, you understand, what I would rather you give me instead is a kiss."

Steve can't help it; the request is so entirely unexpected that he can't do much more than blink at Danny. He's never heard of anyone being able to get out of a trade with another trade, let alone for a kiss. His mind spins in confusion long enough for Danny to lean back, to let go and stand up and step back, to say, "Okay, I can see that may be a bit of a surprise, so, you know, think about it, think it over, I'll be back tomorrow."

He disappears between one blink and the next, and Steve wraps one hand around his still-warm knee where Danny's hand had been.

  


* * *

  


So Steve thinks about it.

He rinses off the saltwater in the hotspring bath down the street, pays very little attention to his surroundings on the walk home, collapses onto his bed while considering just how kissing Danny might work.

He wouldn't have called Danny handsome when he'd first met the man -- although to be fair, Steve was having a shitty night -- but three nights of good-natured bickering and subtle glances back and forth have done a lot to polish Steve's picture of him. He's...magnetic, always in motion and full of sound, broad-shouldered enough to take Steve's weight. They'd both have to tilt a little, have to work out how to take care of the height difference, but Steve thinks it'd be worth it.

Steve wants to know what Danny sounds like when someone else shuts him up, wants to know the feel of the little duck-tail at the back of his head. Wants to trace his tongue across those big shoulders.

He spends all night, and most of the next day, thinking about it

  


* * *

  


Jack drags him back to the main house for dinner, claiming they have guests. Mary introduces the guard from the warehouse as Chin Ho Kelly and a tall, willowy woman as the Wo Kalakaua, which makes Steve do a double-take and everyone else laugh. 

"Wait, aren't you?" Steve points at Chin Ho, but Kono snorts.

"He's my inside man," she says. "Wo Fat doesn't know _ohana_ like we do."

By the time they have dessert Steve finds himself thoroughly charmed and with a recruitment appointment for the Honor Guard of the rightful Wo, with ideas to bring the usurper Wo Fat to justice.

  


* * *

  


When Danny finally shows, the sun is gone completely and the ocean and sky meet in a blur of deep purple at the horizon. Steve has lit a few torches off the porch of his bungalow at the corner of the family property, and he's been pacing for a good hour; he's thankful for his own space every time he glances at the main house because he can only imagine what Mary would say about his agitation.

Steve's just finishing another circuit, walking from the main room back out onto the porch, when he spots Danny stepping out of the shadows on the beach. His hair glints gold in the torchlight, his big shoulders wrapped in blue cotton, his hands in his pockets and an expression on his face that says he isn't quite sure of his welcome.

Steve isn't really aware of how he gets down the porch stairs and over to Danny, but as soon as he gets close enough, he takes that precious face between his hands and leans in. He tilts, has to bend like he'd imagined, but the feel of Danny's warm lips, the way he opens his mouth and presses back and grabs at Steve's biceps with those quick hands -- Steve didn't imagine any of that. 

It leaves him breathless and wanting, the way he can feel Danny's jaw working beneath his palms, the barest brush of hair against his fingertips. Danny's in much the same shape, pulling at Steve and swaying into him, giving back as good as he's getting, until he pushes them apart.

Steve stumbles back a step, his knees trembling and his hands falling away from Danny, who doesn't look at all happy.

"What the hell are you doing?" Danny yells. "What was that?"

It's like getting buffeted by nasty waves, this change in direction. "What the hell do you think?" he yells back. "You said you wanted a kiss!"

Danny sputters, his hands windmilling ineffectually. "Okay!" he finally shouts. He takes a deep breath, visibly marshaling himself, and says, only slightly less than yelling, "Okay, yes, I did, I did say that. But you --" he points at Steve's chest, "-- you were supposed to take your time! Everyone knows this, this is procedure, okay, we had three days, _you_ are supposed to take three days! I was gonna come, tonight, and you were gonna be all, 'oh, but you're' --" and his hands wave in a complicated gesture-- "and I'd argue and you would need to think about it more, but --"

"I didn't need to think about it more, Danny," Steve tries to answer, but Danny keeps right on talking.

"Of course you don't, you just, you _ambush_ me as soon as I get here! I'm not ready!" Danny stops short, blinking up at Steve with wide eyes like he can't quite believe he let that last part slip.

"Not ready for what, Danny?" Steve asks.

Danny's shoulders slump a little and his hands fall to his sides. He seems to just...stop. "I'm out," he says softly, barely audible over the sound of the tide, and his face slowly crinkles with a small smile. "I'm out, I'm done."

"Done with _what_?" Steve asks, feeling sharp-edged and anxious. "Danny, what's going on?"

"Second strike," Danny says, the smile on his face growing and his hands starting to move again. "I'm a -- I _was_ a Collector. Never liked it all that much, really, but it's not like I, well. I, ah, broke a trade, a while ago, helped a woman keep her daughter 'cause, gods, I loved her too, and they told me if I ever fucked up like that again I'd be out on my ass. And then --" Danny meets Steve's eyes. "I knew you'd do it, I knew you wouldn't lose the ocean if you could help it --"

"You let me break the trade," Steve says, starting to see the shape of it, now. "You let me break the trade, and you're, what, not a Collector any more?"

"Nope, it's gone. Gotta travel the old-fashioned way, now." Danny shakes one sandy bare foot for emphasis.

"So --" 

" _So_ , I needed that third day to make arrangements!" Danny grumbles. "I have nowhere to go. Although, hey, fuck the Guild, you can have these back, at least," and he reaches under his collar to pull out the boar's tusk necklace, the opal ring strung next to the tusk.

Steve steps forward, pressing his palm flat over the necklace and Danny's chest. "Danny," he sighs, pushing a little with his fingertips until Danny looks up at him. "Is that the only problem, that you have nowhere to go?"

Danny says sourly, "I get that you'd kiss me to keep the ocean, b--"

Steve cuts him off with another kiss, fast and intent, and he relishes the surprised look on Danny's face when he pulls back. "I want to kiss you all the time."

"All the time?"

Steve nods and reaches for Danny's hand, twines their fingers together. "You'd better stay here, then. So I can."

Danny wraps his free hand around the back of Steve's neck and pulls. "Yeah, okay," he whispers before their smiles meet.


End file.
